


Party Surprise

by adrianna_m_scovill



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Clowns, Comfort, F/M, Feelings, Fluff and Humor, Humor, Phobias
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-30
Updated: 2019-12-30
Packaged: 2021-02-27 15:47:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22029547
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/adrianna_m_scovill/pseuds/adrianna_m_scovill
Summary: While at Jesse's birthday party, Barba has to face a phobia.
Relationships: Rafael Barba/Olivia Benson
Comments: 9
Kudos: 116





	Party Surprise

Barba was hovering near the door, in the almost-corner created by the table butted up against the wall, holding a plastic cup of punch in one hand and lamenting the fact that he had nothing with which to spike the sugary drink.

He seemed to be the only adult at the party without a kid of his own, except Carisi. And Carisi didn’t count. Carisi knew what to do with kids.

Benson walked over holding Billie perched on her hip, and Barba felt a stab of alarm. He subtly shifted his cup of punch in front of himself like a shield so she wouldn’t offer him the baby. Surely he couldn’t be expected to hold a whole live child with only one free hand.

“Hey,” she said with a smile that eased some of his nerves. Her smiles always did that, especially the ones meant only for him. “How’s the punch?”

“Rated G,” he answered, and she laughed quietly as she adjusted the baby on her hip. “Do you want some?” he asked, gesturing toward the table.

“No—thank you.” She eyed him for a few seconds. “You look nervous. They’re just kids. You’re good with kids.”

He gave her his best _don’t be ridiculous_ look but she returned it with a superior _don’t argue with me_ lift of her eyebrows. He glanced toward the living room where Carisi was crawling around on his hands and knees, giving the kids rides on his back.

“You know Jesse specifically asked to invite you,” Benson told him.

“That’s because I buy good presents.”

“Overcompensating?”

“Absolutely,” he answered without hesitation, and she laughed again. “Speaking of bribes, can I buy you a drink later?” He held up his cup. “Something that tastes worse than this.”

She smiled. “Noah’s going to a sleepover after this so I’m free after seven. Should I ask what the bribe’s for?”

“Not if you want plausible deniability.”

“Personal or professional?”

“Um.” He cleared his throat. “Personal.”

“Then I accept,” she said, and he felt a flush of warmth that brought a stupid, sappy smile to his face.

He glanced over his shoulder at the sound of a knock on the door, and then looked for Rollins to see if he should offer to answer it. She was already heading over, though, and she flashed him a smile as she passed. Barba turned his attention back to Benson. She was bouncing Billie while the baby drooled around a pacifier. There were beige chunks in the kid’s slobber, and Barba tried not to wrinkle his nose in disgust.

“Uncle Rafa!” Noah said, hurrying over to his side and hopping excitedly.

Barba wiped the grimace from his face and pasted on a smile. “What’s up?”

“Come watch Rubbers with me?”

Barba blinked down at the boy. “Pardon?”

“He’s gonna make balloon animals—”

Barba followed the gesture of Noah’s arm and saw Rollins ushering the newest guest into the apartment. Barba saw a bright flash of colors, a giant flower, the blur of an unnaturally-white face broken by smears of red paint and a huge red nose—

He made a small, strangled sound before he could lock his throat against it and turned, slamming his thigh into the edge of the table hard enough to rattle the silverware, send chips tumbling out of the open bags, and slosh punch over the edge of the bowl. His own punch splattered the front of his shirt.

“Are you okay?” Benson asked, but he barely heard her over the sudden roar of blood in his ears.

His skin had gone cold but also sprung a sweat, making him clammy inside his too-tight clothes. His heart was slamming unevenly inside his ribs. He glanced over his shoulder at the clown and quickly away, swallowing convulsively.

Rollins gave him a funny look and he barely managed to mutter: “Sorry.” He turned toward the table and snatched up a handful of napkins with a shaky hand. His shoulders were hunched up, though, his skin prickling, and it took all of his willpower to keep from checking to make sure Rubbers wasn’t creeping up on him.

Barba swiped at the punch on the tablecloth, making the mess worse. Benson was watching him, and he could feel heat creeping into his face. He tried to breathe normally, tried to keep his hands moving so their tremble was less noticeable.

His collar was choking him and he was frantically rubbing the red punch into the white tablecloth.

“Uncle Raf?” Noah asked, touching his hip.

Barba jumped at the contact and uttered a breathless curse, looking down at the boy. Noah’s forehead was wrinkled. “Sorry,” Barba repeated. His gaze slid over Noah’s head; Rubbers the clown was setting a suspiciously-large and unnecessarily-patched duffel bag on the rug in the living room while the naïve children gathered around him in glee.

Barba’s throat was tight with fear that he knew— _knew_ —was irrational, and he tugged desperately at his collar.

“You go ahead,” Benson told Noah. “We’ll watch from here.”

“Okay,” Noah said. With one last confused—and, Barba thought, a little judgemental—look at Barba, Noah turned and hurried over to the rest of the kids.

Barba stared at the clown, feeling hot and cold and helpless. Rubbers had giant red lips painted into a smile on his face, but Barba could see his _real_ lips under the paint as Rubbers asked Jesse what balloon animal she wanted, and those lips weren’t smiling. That giant red smile was an optical illusion—a lie—and Barba’s brain tried to shy away from it.

He sensed Benson’s movement but couldn’t bring himself to look at her, couldn’t tear his horrified gaze away from Rubbers, until she was suddenly blocking his view. Barba started, looking at her face in surprise, blinking her into focus.

“Rafael,” she said quietly.

He moved his head so he could see past her and Rubbers looked up, meeting his eyes. Barba let out a small mewl and felt the wall press up against his back. He glanced sideways at the doorknob. He’d have to move toward the clown to get to the door, but it wasn’t far. He was sure he could make it.

“I’m right here,” Benson said, and Barba ran his tongue over his lips as he forced his eyes back to her face. “He’d have to come through me to get to you.”

He knew the words should be comical; there was still a tiny part of his brain capable of recognizing how illogically he was behaving and how ridiculous he must seem to her, but that part of his brain was not in control. “ _You’re holding a baby_ ,” he hissed.

To her credit, she didn’t laugh. He wasn’t sure where she found the strength. If he weren’t struggling against his middle-aged body’s terrifying impulse to release the contents of its bladder, he might laugh at himself.

Benson raised an eyebrow. “You don’t think I could protect you _and_ a baby?” she asked.

He clenched his jaw against a hysterical laugh that bubbled up out of nowhere and said through gritted teeth, as much for himself as for her, “This isn’t funny. I’m about to piss my pants.”

“No, you’re not,” she said calmly. “Here.”

Before he knew what was happening, she’d shoved the fat, drooling baby into his arms and he had to grab on to keep it from tumbling to the floor. “Oh,” he said. “Jesus.” Billie reached up a sticky fist and grabbed at his nose, twisting one nostril until he wondered if he was bleeding. “Okay,” he said, checking to make sure Rubbers was still making balloon animals.

Benson reached up and gently disengaged Billie’s fingers from Barba’s nose. “There. Now my hands are free.”

“If you’re trying to distract me—”

“No. You can use her as a shield. Slow him down.”

Barba stared at her, unsure if he was going to laugh or cry. He was getting control of his impulse to flee, at least, if only because he couldn’t very well run out of the apartment with Rollin’s baby clutched against his punch-stained chest.

“Don’t make fun of me.” He meant the words to sound steely and accusatory but they came out like a soft plea with far too much sincerity and whine.

“I’m not,” she assured him. He believed her, but that didn’t help his wounded pride or chase away the cold snakes writhing in his gut. Billie grabbed his lips, trying to poke her fingers into his mouth, and he tried not to think about what might be stuck to those grimy little cherubic digits. He turned his face away, glancing toward Rubbers first. Billie poked a finger into his ear, instead.

“Why didn’t she say anything about this?” he asked in a harsh whisper. “Everything is fuh—freaking princesses,” he said, side-eyeing Billie. “If I’d known there was going to be—”

“Rafa, do you think Rollins would invite someone into her apartment, hire him to entertain her daughter, without checking him out first?”

He cast a look toward the living room and shook his head. Billie grabbed a fistful of his hair.

“Do you think Carisi or Fin wouldn’t tackle him to the ground if he laid so much as an unfriendly finger on anyone?”

“You’re trying to use logic. I know this feeling is illogical,” he said.

“Well, I’d say that’s half the battle.”

Billie abruptly spat the pacifier out of her mouth and Barba, startled, fumbled as he caught it. He grimaced at the slime in his palm and dropped the pacifier into Benson’s waiting hand. “Cake,” Billie proclaimed, socking him in the cheek with a fist.

Barba shot Benson a helpless look full of panic and desperation. What the hell was he supposed to do with a baby who wanted _cake_?

Benson smiled. “You remember the first time you helped me feed Noah?”

“I still had Spaghetti-Os in my hair when I got home,” he said, and she laughed fondly at the memory. Barba curled a finger into his collar and tugged. He could feel sweat running down the middle of his back and trickling out of his hair at his temples.

“Uncle Rafa!” Noah said, running over to him with a blue balloon elephant clutched in his hands. “Look!”

“Hey, that’s pretty cool,” Barba said, putting out a hand to deflect when Billie tried to grab the rubber animal. “It’s like a…skinnier, squeakier version of Eddie.”

“Squeakier,” Noah laughed, wriggling the balloon to make noise. “Here,” he said, holding it up, “I got it for you.”

“Oh,” Barba said. He was disproportionately and unexpectedly moved by the gesture; his emotions were _way_ out of whack. “Thank you, Noah. Um.” He cleared his throat. “Could you…hang onto that for me?”

“Oh, sure,” Noah said. He considered for a moment, and his face brightened. “I’m gonna ask for two so we can both have one!” Before Barba could respond, Noah turned and hurried back toward the clown.

Barba looked at Rubbers and felt a slither of fear at the way that fake smile didn’t match the man’s lips.

Billie kicked him in the thigh hard enough to make him wince. She missed his crotch by a margin of less than two inches, and he shifted her a little further out of reach. “Cake!” she demanded, scowling at him.

“Say please,” he answered.

Her startled blink was so comical that he almost forgot that he was teetering on the edge of a panic attack. Her lower lip jutted out into a pout and he could see her gearing up for a display of crocodile tears.

“No cake if you cry,” he warned.

She stared at him, clearly unsure how to proceed. He raised an eyebrow and she looked up at it, fascinated. He dropped it down and notched it up again and her face split into a grin. Barba smiled.

“Here,” Benson said, holding out her arms. “Come on, baby, let’s go find your momma for some cake.” Billie went to Benson eagerly at the mention of cake, and Barba’s arms suddenly felt too light without her wiggling weight. He fidgeted, unsure what to do with his hands. Benson caught his gaze. “Count to ten,” she said.

He drew a breath, fighting the urge to glance toward the living room, and did as instructed. He’d just gotten to nine when she reappeared in front of him without Billie. She took his arm, her hand warm and comforting above his elbow, and led him toward the door. Barba studiously kept his gaze away from the monstrosity known as _Rubbers_ , and in a matter of moments he and Benson were in the hallway and she was closing the door with a soft click.

He knew it was an illusion, but the air suddenly felt cooler, fresher, and he sucked in a deep breath. He leaned his back against the wall and closed his eyes. He hated the relief coursing through him, hated what it said about him.

“You’re alright,” Benson said softly, rubbing his upper arm. “I’m right here.”

“Jesus,” he breathed, thudding his head back against the wall. “I thought it was bad seeing them on the sidewalk, but this—” He shuddered. His skin was still crawling inside his clothes.

“I’m proud of you,” she said.

He dropped his chin to look at her, uttering a strangled laugh full of disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”

“I am,” she said. She squeezed his arm. “Seriously, you didn’t run. You worked through it.”

“I didn’t.”

“You did. I saw you. You talked to Noah, to Billie—”

“You didn’t give me much choice.”

She smiled. “Of course you had a choice,” she said. “But you stood there and faced the fear—”

“It’s a fucking _clown_ ,” he blurted. “Some guy with bright clothes and paint on his face. You think I don’t know how ridiculous it is?”

“Phobias are very real, Rafael. I know you know that.”

“Sure, people afraid of rational things—” He snapped his mouth shut at the look on her face and drew a breath through his nose. “Fine,” he said after a few moments. “Other people, then.”

She pressed a hand to his chest, where his heart was slowly trying to reclaim its normal rhythm. “I’m guessing you’ll want to change before we go for drinks.”

“I think it’s a fitting punishment that I go out in public with punch on my shirt and piss in my pants,” he said. She laughed at his dramatics, but he couldn’t blame her; she’d held herself together remarkably well, and she’d done it for him. He felt the knots in his stomach loosening, the tension leaving his muscles. The hair on the back of his neck was still standing at attention, his skin still prickled with the knowledge that Rubbers was only a single wall away, but it was so much better when Barba couldn’t see him.

“I’ll give you a ride home and then come back to pick you up after Noah goes to the sleepover,” she offered.

“I’m going to get very, very drunk,” he warned.

She smiled, rubbing her hand over his chest. “In that case, maybe we should get a car and I can join you. After all, if you’re going to try to bribe me you should be prepared to buy a lot of drinks. I’m not cheap.”

He laughed, reaching up on impulse to wrap his hand around hers. He laced their fingers together and kissed the back of her knuckles. “Thank you, Liv. For, you know. Pretending you haven’t lost all respect for me.”

“Rafael,” she said. Her voice was stern, but there was a small smile on her lips and a warm look in her eyes.

“Olivia,” he returned, mimicking her tone. He realized he was still holding her hand against his chest but decided not to let go right away, see if she would pull away. He sighed. “Okay, I know, you’re going to make me go back in there.”

“I’m not going to make you do anything. We can stand out here until he leaves, if you want.”

His gaze darted toward the door beside him. “When will that be, do you think?”

“We can go for a little walk down the hall.”

“My mother has a date next weekend. She wants me to come along. To go along. Out to dinner with them, her and her…boyfriend,” he said, wrinkling his nose at the last word.

Benson hesitated. “Okay,” she finally said. “And…how do you feel about that?”

Barba laughed, squeezing her hand. “I was going to ask if you’d come with me.”

“Oh.” She considered, and he saw realization dawn. “ _Oh_ ,” she repeated. “The bribe.”

“Right.”

“Of course, I’d be honored. You do know you could’ve just asked.”

“I mean as a date.” He loosened his grip on her hand in case she wanted to step away.

“Okay,” she said after a moment. “I’m not used to guys bringing their mother on the second date, but I think I can roll with it.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Second date?”

“Listen,” she said, “if you’re going to put on that blue sweater of yours and take me out for an obscene number of drinks tonight, I’m counting it as a date.”

It wasn’t fear adding speed to his heartrate, now, and the warm weight settling into his stomach felt nothing like snakes. “Blue sweater?” he asked, trying to remember when and where he’d worn it and if she’d been giving signals that he’d been too stupid to notice.

“I’m willing to consider requests. Fair is fair.”

He glanced involuntarily down her body and swallowed. “Requests? As in, wardrobe?”

“For starters, sure.”

His gaze flicked up to hers. “I have no clothing requests except that you be in them. And…you know…don’t dress like a clown, please.”

She laughed and leaned forward to press a kiss to his cheek. He felt her fingers curl against his chest. “I’ll dress to match the blue sweater, then,” she said softly, and he realized belatedly that he’d settled a hand onto her hip. Her gaze dropped to his mouth and his lips parted. “So what do you think? You want to go back in there?”

“It’s impossible to read their faces,” he said quietly.

“I know.”

“To know who they are, what they’re thinking. It’s just…I don’t like that,” he said, which they both knew was a massive understatement.

“I get it. But you can keep your eyes on me and I promise to stay between you and him the whole time.”

He considered. “Cake?” he asked hopefully.

She laughed and pushed at his chest. “Say please,” she ordered, laughing again when he pursed his lips into a pout.

“Alright, yes, I think I’m ready to go back in.” He leaned forward and tipped his chin up to kiss her forehead. “Thank you,” he said.

She stepped back and slipped an arm around him when he turned away from the wall. “What’re friends for?” she asked lightly, but the weight of her hand at his waist felt decidedly more than friendly.


End file.
